


Red-Eye

by withoutaplease



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 20:51:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20552510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withoutaplease/pseuds/withoutaplease
Summary: Summary: The one time Sam and Reader go off on separate hunts.Warnings: None reallyAuthor’s Note: This is the result of a real thunderstorm, a real forgotten cell phone, and a hankering for my favourite pretend boyfriend.





	Red-Eye

**Author's Note:**

> This is an oldie I just realized I never cross-posted. Here for safekeeping for if/when Tumblr bites it.

Early one morning in August, after five solid weeks of nothing worth Googling, the three of you hit the jackpot. There’s an old preacher performing actual miracles in front of his congregation, a trail of badly-hidden bodies clearly killed by vampire, and a rather gruesome mauling of a dozen teenaged campers by the light of the full moon - all within a day’s drive. Dean calls dibs on the campers, and he hits the road west while you and Sam are arguing over the vampire.

“You always take out the vampires,” he says, tossing weapons into his duffel as if it’s a done deal. “I haven’t killed anything in months.”

“Not true,” you counter. “You killed a spider for me yesterday.” He rolls his eyes, and laughs.

“Yes,” he says, “and now I have a taste for slaughter that must be sated.”

“Aren’t you interested in seeing a real live miracle?” you ask, trying a different tack.

Sam pauses, considering. “Not especially,” he says with a shrug. He zips up the bag and slings it over his shoulder. He heads toward the door, pausing to kiss you as he passes. “You’re taking the safe one,” he says, and you know heels digging into the ground when you see them.

“I could just go with you,” you say. “Mine can wait.”

“A real life miracle? No way,” he says, grinning and stepping away from you. He waves with his phone in his hand. “I’ll text you later. I love you. Be safe.” Then he disappears into the garage, pulls out in a truly heinous station wagon, and drives away north.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re stowing your gun in your glovebox and rolling east, your phone sitting face-up on the passenger seat.

***  
The “miracles” turn out to be nothing but magic tricks; the preacher a huckster cashing in on the trusting generosity of his congregation. You call in an anonymous tip to the local law enforcement, then you’re on the road home again, driving into the sunset.

***  
You’re stretched out on your bed, the tv turned up against the cavernous silence of the empty bunker, when your phone buzzes from the pillow next to you.

**\- Hey, beautiful. I’m in a motel for the night. Heading home in the morning.**

I’m home already. What happened with the vampire? -

**\- It was just a kid, turned not too long ago. I put him down. How were the miracles?**

False alarm -  
You okay? -

**\- Yeah. Just need six solid hours. Be there by noon.**

Okay. Good night. -

**\- Night, babe**

You put down the phone and hunker down deeper into the bed, relaxing. Alone in the bunker is not your favourite place to be, but you’re at ease enough, now. You set the sleep timer on the TV for 20 minutes, and close your eyes.

You’re most of the way asleep when the screen flickers off and your phone buzzes again. You feel around until you find it, and squint at the brightness. It’s Sam again.

**\- You still up?**

Yeah. Can’t sleep? -

**\- Too hot. The AC barely works.**

So take a cold shower and take off your clothes -

**\- I did that already. Want to see?**

You giggle sleepily, but when you see that he’s sending a photo, you sit up, wide awake. He’s lying against the bleach-white sheets, his hair wet and slicked back, wearing nothing but a strategically draped towel and a cheesy grin.

Knew I should have gone with you. -

**\- That’s why we have this technology ;)**

That a hint? -

**\- More like a request**

You laugh again, then you whip off your tank top and make a cheeky face for the camera before you can change your mind. You wait on pins and needles while it sends.

**\- Fuck. Should’ve brought you with me.  
\- No way I can wait until tomorrow**

You bite your lip against a smirk, and start to type, why wait? I’m not, when another text comes through.

**\- Hang on  
\- someone at the door**

You stop typing and stare at the phone, waiting. Three minutes go by, and you pull the blankets up over your chest, feeling chilled. After ten minutes, you put the phone down on your pillow. After twenty, you start to drift off.

You’re fast asleep when the phone buzzes again, and you wake up confused and disoriented. You look at the screen and are surprised to see two hours have gone by. The message is from Dean.

**\- It was a friggin bear. Park rangers put it down. OMW back.  
\- You heard from Sam?**

Couple hours ago -  
He said someone was at the door, and I haven’t heard since -

**\- Probably in a pizza coma  
\- I’m two hours out, see you soon**

You switch back to your conversation with Sam, send a dubious, you asleep?, and get up to put some clothes on. You don’t feel much like sleeping anymore.

***

Dean gets in half an hour ahead of schedule. He pauses in your doorway when he sees you sitting cross-legged on the bed, restlessly mainlining episodes of The Office. “See any cool miracles today?” he asks, his voice flat and tired.

“It’s a miracle I didn’t punch that crook in the face,” you reply, and he laughs.

“Guess you haven’t heard anything?”

You shake your head.

“Well,” he says, holding up a six-pack. “I could use a nightcap if you want some company.”

“Sure,” you say, patting Sam’s side of the bed with a wan smile.

You watch two episodes in relative silence (aside from one mumbled, I bet the little blonde is a firecracker in the sack), and nurse one unappetizing beer. Dean finishes his second and starts to yawn. Nether of your phones make a sound.

“That’s it for me,” he says, starting to get up as the credits roll on the second season finale. “You should get some sleep, sweetheart.”

“I’m not your sweetheart,” you answer, and he chuckles.

“If he’s not back in the morning, we’ll go get him, okay?” he says, hovering for a second at the door.

“Sounds good,” you say, stamping down a swell of tears that threaten to spill over, but don’t. “Good night.”

***  
You’re half-convinced you’re dreaming when he slips into bed, groaning softly and curling himself around you. He whispers, “Hey, baby,” with a scratchy voice, and you swim up through visions of blood and fangs to meet him.

“What happened?” you murmur thickly, wiggling closer in his arms without opening your eyes.

“The Little Vampire had a big brother,” he says. And then, apologetically, “I lost my phone.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, stiffly, like maybe he’s not. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” you repeat, not bothering to stifle the tears that drop onto your pillow.

He sighs, squeezes tighter. You stay that way until well past noon.


End file.
